


Cure From The East

by Anilkex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilkex/pseuds/Anilkex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Prompt from another great author requested a scenario set in early Season 9, with Sam coming down with a bad cold, and Kevin Tran having the cure in the form of an old family recipe.</p>
<p>No real plot, just a fun sickfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cure From The East

**Author's Note:**

> This is, I believe, the first fanfic I wrote for an LJ Meme back in October of 2013. I'm going through FF.net stuff, and realized this one didn't get ported over here.
> 
> As usual, nothing is mine.
> 
> Full and lengthy prompt is at the end.
> 
> This is set in early Season 9.

As Sam lay on his brick of a mattress, he knew he was in trouble. Not big trouble, but trouble nonetheless. His throat was scratchy and he had a headache that started behind his eyes and traveled into parts of his head he wasn’t used to feeling. He did the math, and remembered the freaked out mom at the grocery store the other day with those screaming kids, who all had runny, disgusting noses, touching everything and anything...including his hand and cart as one of them ran by.

He sighed, knowing that Dean was going to be a bitch about this. (“The triiiiiiiials, Sammy...you’re too tiiiiiiired...take it eeeeeeasy…”) Sam rolled his eyes. The trials were like, eons ago, Dean, get over it. I’m fine. 

Still, he _was_ starting to feel crappy...but he was confident that a couple Tylenol and a lot of water would take care of it. He had research to do, and since Dean was no help in that department whatsoever, his load was a little heavier than normal.

He groaned and got out of bed, making his way down the cold hallway and into the kitchen where his brother was already making breakfast, clad in his fluffy gray bathrobe and slippers. Sam suppressed a laugh at the sight - he never thought he’d see Dean this domestic. 

Then again, he never thought he’d see Dean relaxed.

“Morning, Princess. Hungry?”

Sam swallowed and almost.. _almost_...grimaced at the sharp pain in his throat, but caught himself at the last second. “Um...yeah...a little.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam and pointed the spatula at him, splattering bits of scrambled eggs everywhere. “Your voice sounds funny...you comin’ down with something?”

_How the fuck_ ….Sam blinked at him. “I just woke up, Dean. Gimme a break…”

Dean just grunted, and turned back to the stove. “Grab some juice and sit down. Eggs’ll be done in a minute.”

Sam would have laughed outright at that point, but he was afraid to make a sound. If Dean got suspicious after four words, he needed to be careful. He poured himself some juice and sat at the table, waiting, like a good little brother.

Kevin shuffled in, yawning and scratching his head. His hair stuck out in every direction possible and his eyes were barely open. He mumbled what vaguely sounded like ‘gudmrng’ and slumped into a chair. 

“You look chipper,” Sam commented, sipping his juice and wincing as the acidic liquid burned his throat.

“Yeah? You’d look fucking chipper, too, if you were up all night translating some stupid dead language off a stupid hunk of rock. And you look like shit anyway, so shut up.”

Dean turned around and gently cuffed Kevin on the head. “Stand down, Prophet-boy. Eat some eggs. You’ll feel better.”

Dean placed two plates full of steaming eggs and bacon on the table, and stood waiting with his arms crossed.

Sam and Kevin timidly looked up at Dean as they picked up their forks. “Um...why are you staring at us?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed in exasperation. “I want to know if it tastes okay. I tried something new...and…” his voice trailed off as Sam and Kevin just stared at him.

Kevin deadpanned, “The mighty hunter has fallen.”

Sam added, “...And turned into Julia Child.”

“Fuck you both. Eat.” Dean grabbed his own plate and sat down.

Kevin snickered and practically attacked the food, telling Dean that the eggs were awesome as Dean nodded in agreement, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Sam tried to eat - he really did. It tasted great...at least he was sure it did. But his head was killing him ( _shit_...the Tylenol’s in the bathroom…) and his throat was not cooperating. He ended up moving the food around more than actually putting it in his mouth.

Dean eyed Sam quietly as he shoved the eggs in his mouth (they _were_ fucking amazing...he admitted to himself...). He could tell something was off with his brother, and that Sam wasn’t ready to admit it. He was all too familiar with this game, and could play it all day if necessary. He just knew he had to be careful, though, given that Sam was living off Angel Prozac right now, and and the last thing he wanted to do was send Sam into a tizzy and force Zeke to heal him more than he already is.

Or...more than Dean assumes he already is.

He sighed and went back to his breakfast.

Sam decided that the food was not going to make it into his stomach, no matter what. So he picked up his plate and placed it in the fridge. Dean raised his eyebrows at him, his fork sticking out of his mouth.

“I’m saving them for later. My...stomach’s not awake enough for all that food.”

_Smooth, Sam. Smooth._

“Soooo...I’m gonna hit the books for a bit.” And he quickly left the room.

Kevin just sat there, looking from Dean to Sam’s retreating back, and back to Dean again.

Dean swallowed the eggs already in his mouth and simply said, “Twenty bucks says he’ll be in bed by one.”

**xxxxx**

Sure enough, he was.

Little by little, the cold Sam picked up morphed into a raging disaster. He did take Tylenol as soon as he left the kitchen, but it didn’t do a damn thing for his headache. His backup plan of drinking a lot of water (because sure, that’s a cure for the common cold) didn’t pan out either, as swallowing was so incredibly painful, he almost cried every time he took a sip. Besides, the trickle of water that did get through made him cough.

He felt the tingling of a fever around ten-thirty. He shivered when the odd prickling sensation danced across the length of his body and he knew a few drops of sweat were starting to bead on his forehead. The headache was still present, but now his whole body ached whether he moved or not.

Around eleven, his nose started to run. It wasn’t much at first - not enough to sniffle, but not enough to actually blow. So he had to resort to wiping his nose with crappy tissues every couple of minutes, which caused the skin to become red and sore in no time.

By eleven-thirty, his nose ran even more, and it became too much to sniffle, and caused too much nose-blowing, which, of course, meant more soreness and more redness.

At noon, the sneezing started, and by then he was about ready to scream. It was one every five to ten minutes, then more frequently, until he had multiple fits at a time. He eventually closed the book he was “reading” and just sat on the couch, in a grumpy funk, timing the silence between sneezing just so he had something to focus on besides how absolutely miserable he felt.

Throughout all this, Dean kept watch from the next room, making sure that Kevin stayed away so Sam could be alone. He decided to give Sam his space, and when he was too sick to move, Dean would swoop in and take care of his brother without the arguing. 

He hated arguing with Sam throughout the trials. He understood that Sam felt he needed to prove himself, but Dean needed to continue taking care of Sam. Now? Dean wasn’t arguing anymore. He was...well...being sneaky. It’s all he could do, and honestly, he’ll do it if it means Sam gets what he needs. He ignored how easy it was to be sneaky when it came to Sam’s well-being...that’s how Zeke got there in the first place, right?

But this was a no-brainer. It was just a cold, and Dean would fix it in a straight-forward and honest way, so he was really okay with this level of sneakiness.

Dean constantly checked his watch, amazed at how fast this whole illness progressed. It was unbelievable, and really, only something Sam Winchester could manage. By twelve-forty-five, Dean couldn’t take it anymore. Besides, he did bet Sam would be bed-ridden by one, so he had a deadline to meet.

While Sam was in the middle of a massive sneezing fit, Dean quietly walked over and draped a thick, warm blanket on his lap and handed him a fresh box of Kleenex. He sat in a chair opposite the couch and waited for Sam to finish.

Finally, Sam raised teary eyes to Dean and sighed. He knew he was busted, and right now, he didn’t really care. He felt like complete shit.

“You look like complete shit.”

Sam leaned back and closed his eyes, sighing, and hugging the blanket tightly. “I feel like complete shit.”

Dean nodded. “You’re done for the day. Cuddle with a book like it’s a teddy bear if it makes you happy, but you’re done.”

Sam sniffed and nodded.

“I’m going to the store to get you something stronger than almost-expired Tylenol. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Sam nodded again, grabbing a handful of tissues and sneezing into them.

Dean patted him on the leg. “Okay, kiddo. Take a nap. Text if you think of something you want.”

“Thanks, Dean…” Sam’s voice was an octave lower than normal, and sounded like he’d been swallowing glass.

“It’s what big brothers are for, right?” Dean smiled, his eyes scanning Sam for every symptom so he’d know what medicine to buy.

**xxxxx**

Dean stopped at Kevin’s room before heading to the car. He poked his head inside and announced, “Sam’s sick...like I said he was...and I’m running to the store to grab some stuff. Need anything?”

Kevin closed the book he was reading and thought for a moment. “Yeah...wait a sec…” He grabbed a duffel bag and rummaged through it. He brought out a small binder and flipped through the pages until he came to one that had curled corners and a few stains on it. “Here it is!”

“Here what is?” Dean asked curiously, stepping into the room and sitting on the bed next to Kevin.

“A recipe - for this really awesome Chinese soup my mom used to make when I was sick. It’s a little spicy, but it’s supposed to help with congestion and stuff. Um. She also said it’s supposed to help make girls fertile during the right lunar cycle, but I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

Dean made a face that clearly said it was not out of the realm of Winchester possibility that one of them would get pregnant from a spicy Chinese soup. Their lives were just that fucked up. And Sam _was_ such a girl sometimes.

“Sounds perfect. What do we need?”

“Well, the list is here, but...uh...it’s in Chinese. So...why don’t I just go with you? It’d be faster than translating it. And...seriously…I’m tired of translating.”

“Good point. Alrighty then. Suit up - we’re going for a ride.”

**xxxxx**

The ride to a grocery store was only fifteen minutes long. The ride to an Asian specialty grocery store was closer to forty-five minutes. 

The first ten minutes were spent in silence. Normally Dean would crank the music and sing away the minutes. But he wasn’t feeling it today, for some reason, and the silence was actually welcoming.

Until it became a little uncomfortable, because hey, there was another person in the car with him.

“So...Kevin…”

Kevin twisted in his seat and looked at Dean. “Yeah?”

That was all Dean had, so he was scrambling to come up with something else to say. “Um...this soup your mom made you…”

“Yeah - it’s been in my family for years. At least that’s what she said. It was probably printed on the back of a Kikkoman soy sauce label, but whatever. When I was a kid, and got sick, she always made it. I guess it’s like our version of chicken noodle soup, you know? But...there’s no chicken. Or….noodles. So...yeah.”

“Huh. So how does it make chicks pregnant?”

Kevin scrunched up his face and faced the windshield. “Yeah...not so sure on that one.”

They both laughed.

“But...I guess the...uh... spices in the broth help clear your sinuses or something. I’m not too sure. I just remember her making it whenever I had a cold and it helped me breathe better.” He shrugged. “Anything like that in your family?”

Dean squirmed in his seat. How do you explain canned SpaghettiOs and crappy take-out as homemade remedies? “Not really. We...moved around a lot, and didn’t really keep in touch with family. Dad always tried to stay one step ahead of us when we were sick and did have some kitchen sink chicken soup thing he made...but it wasn’t often. I tried to make it for Sam during the trials, but...yeah. Anyway, problem was, we were together, like, all the fucking time, crammed in either a shitty motel room or a small cheesy apartment.”

He shook his head at the memories. “So when one of us came down with something it was only a matter of time before the other one did.” He paused to cough into his arm, then continued. “Sam tried to make homemade soup once when he was ten. Canned chicken and canned broth.” Kevin groaned. “Actually, it wasn’t that bad. But...I guess we were desperate...so anything homemade, even if only sorta homemade, tasted good.”

He stopped talking then, realizing he was sharing a lot of information with this kid that he normally wouldn’t share. He found that he didn’t mind, though, and it was a better way to pass the time than just sitting in silence.

He cleared his throat, coughed again, and grabbed a drink from a bottle of water sitting next to him on the seat. Kevin threw a glance his way, but said nothing. The rest of the drive passed with more idle chit chat about this and that. They both avoided discussing anything remotely related to angels or tablets. It was nice to have something else to talk about for a change.

**xxxxx**

The Asian grocery store was small and cramped. Boxes filled with inventory that needed to be stocked on shelves lined the three aisles, with the fourth holding freezer and refrigerator cases. Kevin took out his list, and quickly started filling a basket with the items he needed. Dean wandered around, letting Kevin do his thing, exploring the various foods and gadgets on display.

Intrigued by the assortment of fresh fish on ice in the back, Dean bent down and stared at the vacant eyed seafood, wondering what their last thoughts were before being caught. He stood up as his nose started to itch, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to quell the sensation. It built too strong, too fast, though, and he pitched forward, sneezing onto a tank of lobsters. 

“Shit…” he mumbled, quickly wiping the spray from the glass and watching the creatures skitter to the farther side of the tank. He sniffled when he finished, zipping up his jacket and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Okay - all done.” He whipped around to see Kevin standing there, holding a shopping basket filled with bottles, cans, and plastic bags of produce.

“Great. Let’s get to a regular store and then go home.”

The American grocery store held all the other things Dean knew they’d need - Kleenex, Nyquil, a new thermometer, and whatever else he wanted to grab. Sam sent him a text practically begging for popsicles and juice, so those went in the cart as well.

Kevin walked up with a large package of pink meat wrapped in plastic.

“Um. What the hell is that?”

“Pork - for the broth.”

Dean nodded. “Excellent. Let’s go to the medicine aisle and then check out.”

When they arrived in the “Cold/Allergy” section, they both stood and stared at shelf after shelf of boxes and printed promises.

“Holy shit…”

Kevin backed away and went to the aisle next door. “You’re on your own, here, man. I have no fucking clue…”

Grunting, Dean squatted down and started to read labels as fast as he could. He was worried about Sam being alone for this long. He started listing symptoms in his head that he remembered Sam showing.

He knew Sam was shivering, so he probably had a fever. Dammit, it was cold in here…Dean checked to make sure his own coat was zipped. 

He saw Sam wiping and blowing his nose, so he obviously needed something to help with congestion. Dean checked his pocket for an old napkin he knew was hiding there, and quickly wiped at his own nose which chose that exact moment to drip just a little.

He definitely remembered the coughing - Dean paused to cough into the crook of his arm - and holy fuck, the damn sneezing.

_“Hhhhhhh---Hih-TSCHOO!”_

_Fuck._

Dean hung his head and sighed.

“So...you’re sick too, huh?” Kevin snuck up behind him and was watching with his arms folded across his chest.

Dean just nodded, and sneezed again. He slowly stood up, rubbed the back of his neck and tossed a couple bottles of good old Nyquil into the cart.

“Let’s get out of here.”

**xxxxx**

By the time they returned to the bunker, it was clear that Kevin was on his own in the kitchen. Dean’s head was pulsing to the rumble of the Impala’s engine as they pulled into the garage, and he was shivering so hard it made steering difficult. Kevin had a wild-eyed look about him, and when the car finally stopped, he jumped out.

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t think we’d make it back alive. You shoulda just let me drive.”

“No one…” Dean sneezed. “But Sam or I…” He sneezed again. “And barely even Sam…” He sneezed yet again. “Drives my baby. Understand?” He leaned against his girl and panted from the fit.

Kevin tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Riiiight. It’s much better to crash her with ME INSIDE because you CAN’T STOP SNEEZING LONG ENOUGH to keep her IN ONE LANE.”

“Shut up. Help me with the bags and get cooking.”

Once Dean dropped the groceries on the kitchen table, he grabbed the bags of “sick supplies” and went in search for his brother.

**xxxxx**

As Dean walked towards the library, he knew he was in trouble. Not big trouble, but trouble nonetheless. His head was hurting, the sneezing was annoying, and his nose was running.

He sighed, because he knew Sam was going to be a bitch about this. (“You never slow down enough to take care of yourself, Dean...you need to rest...take it eeeeeeasy…”) Dean rolled his eyes. That kind of schedule was over, like, eons ago, Sam, get over it. I’m fine. 

But he wasn’t fine, and he knew it.

He slowed as he approached Sam, who was still on the couch, just as Dean left him. Only now, he was burrowed under the blanket, shivering and sneezing, and sweating and coughing.

Shit - he was a fucking mess. Dean was a mess, but not _that_ bad.

He cleared away the crap in his throat and pulled out a fresh box of tissues. It looked like Sam went through almost an entire box already.

“Hey there…” At the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam poked his head out from under the blanket and attempted a smile, only to have it turn into a harsh, wet cough. 

Dean grimaced and tossed the tissue box onto Sam’s lap. Sam sighed in relief, tore open the top and grabbed a handful. He pressed them to his nose just as he sneezed again.

He sniffed. “Oh by god...this is...fuckig...awful…”

Dean pulled a large recliner close and sat down heavily. “Yeah, I know, kid. I’m sorry. I got you some Nyquil…” He opened the package and poured out a cup of the magic green syrup. 

Sam was eyeing him suspiciously. Dean met his gaze as he handed over the medicine. “What?”

Sam huffed a laugh and took the cup. “You’re sick, too.”

Dean blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Sam swallowed the contents of the cup, making a face at the disgusting taste. “Why cad’t they bake these id a better flavor?” He sniffed and added, “You’re hads are slow, abd you’re shakigd.”

It took Dean a second to understand Sam’s congested speak, but when he did, he just slumped against the back of the chair and sighed. “I feel like shit.” He sneezed right then, and groaned.

At that moment, Cas wandered into the room, yawning, handing a twenty dollar bill to Sam. “You were right, Sam. He ‘fessed up before five.”

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:
> 
> So! Early season nine, they're all set up in the bunker with Kevin, maybe Cas is there, maybe not (I'm pretty indifferent). Aaaand Sam comes down with this really completely horrible cold that just totally knocks him out, maybe he's weak from the aftermath of the trials or something, maybe he caught it on a case or at the store or even from some bitch reason like being in the rain/cold too long, I don't know, doesn't matter, take your pick. And at first he's all 'whatever, I'm fine' (typical Sam Winchester) about it, but seriously, this thing came on fast and by mid-afternoon he's pretty much bedridden (couch-ridden?) and yeah of course he's frustrated about it, but you know what, shove it, Sam, you're sick as a dog, you're not getting up today.
> 
> And because I love (love love love!) Kevin Tran, let's say that he knows this recipe for a really spicy Chinese soup (what's with me and China today? jeez) that his mom would always make when he was sick, so he goes with Dean to the grocery store to help him pick out all of the ingredients. Bonding time for Dean and Kevin! (Maybe they talk about Sam, or getting sick, or Sam getting sick or how they usually get sick at the same time because they share so much of the same space or the job or the trials or school or the cello or or or you know what it doesn't really matter to me I'll love it no matter what) AND, hmm, let's also say that Dean is coming down with the same bug that Sam has, only it's obviously not as bad quuiiiite yet but it's starting to hit him and although he was planning on cooking the soup for his sick baby brother, by the time they get home he's all dizzy and sneezy and weak and tired and SOOO it's Kevin's turn to cook! (And maybe Cas can help?)


End file.
